


Grapevine

by ridorana



Series: let's get rabanasty [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: M/M, i thought you said cause a clamor in the sheets, no spoilers you lucky minxes, oh you said cause a clamor in the streets?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 23:44:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11565861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ridorana/pseuds/ridorana
Summary: Vaan's favorite joke is, "I'll tell you when you're older."





	Grapevine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zellieda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zellieda/gifts).



Where sea and sky meet at the horizon in a jovial clamor sits the Whitecap, smelling of salt and sun even deep into the night. The setting tugs a smile at the corner of Vaan’s lips - Balfonheim, the City of Pirates. Why, the mere title alone ignites a flurry of butterflies in the pit of his belly. Even on night three, he is still reeling from the high of it all, an excitement that can only be doused by liquor, it seems. At least that’s what he tells himself when he’s at the bar for the umpteenth time that eve, some soft tinge of giddy mirth playing up the roundness in his features that invites yet another jab from the bartender.

“Aye, son, you get younger lookin’ ev'ry time you come up here tonight. Whatever I’m puttin' in yer drink I best start takin’ myself.”

Vaan sinks into the barstool and grins at the salt and peppered pirate-turned-barkeep. He’s already been introduced but long-forgot his name. There’s been a lot of names he’s had to remember lately. “Pour two, then, I owe you one anyway.” The invitation is as casual as the soft ripple of skin in his shrug, and Vaan motions to the array of taps before him.

A snort, a roll of the eyes, and the barkeep is already pouring two red ales because, why not, it's Balfonheim. “Twist my arm why don’t ya, boy - say, yer name again?”

“Vaan.”

“Vaan, right, right, new to town are ya?”

Vaan peers into the russet-red of the pint glass and thinks idly back to the tones of the Estersand’s cliffs, so far away now, and the nostalgia tastes sweet. “Yeah, new for now at least.” He lifts his eyes from the glass, chin high. “Though you might wanna get used to seeing me around.”

“Is that right? What trade winds bring you in, boy? Aye,” he leans in closer, adds, “Don’t tell me, you’re as Dalmascan as they come.” Vaan wants to preen at the validation - being a walking billboard for his country at a time like this has made him awfully proud of his heritage.

“I’m here on uh, business, of sorts,” Vaan offers and the barkeep chortles.

“Who isn’t, boy. Who’re you with?”

Vaan thinks there’s no harm in dropping a name; Balthier has been out late the past few nights at this very bar, after all, and so Vaan tells.

“Master Balthier!” here, the barkeep laughs, low and perhaps too knowing. “Been good to see that scoundrel again. Always a riot, he is. Why I’ve known him since he first stepped into Balfonheim barely shy o’your age. Scarce has he been as of late. Was in here last night closin’ up shop with me. Owed me a good few rounds o’ stories.” The barkeep takes a long sip of his ale, lips twisted around the rim. “And a few good rounds he had,” he adds, quieter but certainly not enough to miss Vaan’s ears.

Vaan can't help his curiosity. “Oh yeah? What kinda stories?”

The barkeep laughs, loud and raspy. “Oh, heavens no, lad. I’ll tell you when you’re older." The laugh fades into something more sinister before he adds, "But let’s just say I’ll be takin’ a visit to Rabanastre soon - says the sights are quite lovely, 'e does, that Balthier.”

Vaan’s eyes flicker, alive with a sudden fire. “C’mon, I can take it. ‘Sides, I’ve spent enough time around him to be used to all of _that_ by now. Comes with the territory.” _Take the bait_ , he chants inwardly, _you old sea geezer, take the bait_.

A dismissive hand waves in front of him. “Bah. Aw’right. I always _do_ enjoy tales of his conquests.” Another salacious chuckle proceeds a rueful shake of the head. “Though he never ceases to surprise me, that pirate. Comes in last night, well past close we’re catchin’ up, are we, and he’s tellin’ me about this Dalmascan. _Dalmascan_! That smarmy Archadian git always did love a little rebellion,” he adds in what Vaan would like to title Understatement of the Year, but he dare not say a word, holding his breath. The barkeep continues, quieter, more thoughtfully, as if he really were a loyal subscriber to _Balthier's Plunderings Post,_  “Funny, Dalmascan - not usually one for blondes, he says.”

Vaan whistles, lowly. “Must’ve been quite the catch.” It's all he says, and all he needs to. 

“That’s what ‘e said!” the man slams his fist on the bar, a sound lost in the din about the Whitecap. “Dark lashes, tanned skin, round ass, full lips, ‘e went on and on about this one! Damn that man. Well into his cups he was at this point, mind you, but I heard him right when he said,” and here he leans in, smirk absolutely twisted, “five hours… five hours with this Dalmascan minx. Aye, he’s ‘bout sold me on closin' the Whitecap altogether and high-tailing it to Rabanastre with a story like that!”

Vaan’s drink is somehow completely gone by the time he says, with a very, very straight face, “Five hours, huh. Sounds like a great time.”

“Great time, aye, ‘e said it was the best ‘e ever had, ‘e did!” the barkeep hardly keeps himself together now, eyes scanning about his bar wildly as if he, too, were looking for a beautiful blonde Dalmascan with a shapely ass to ride him straight to his grave . “That Balthier’s a gods-damned riot, no doubt about it. Five hours,” the man repeat's it again, incredulously, as he pours himself another drink from the tap. “You Dalmascans must be somethin’. No wonder Archadia and Rozarria are up in arms about’cha.”

Vaan fishes for coin in his satchel, before hopping off the barstool. He offers the barkeep a grin, paying for his evening out and tipping the man heavily for more than just a drink.

“Yeah, we’re pretty fun,” he says, grinning wider even as he leaves.

——

It’s hours later. Balthier is sheathed in Vaan, deep, over and over again, anchoring his madness with teeth in the blonde's shoulder; Vaan sings out a particularly breathy moan for the pirate, arches prettily, sends the man further still. Vaan's back is to Balthier on the bed, side-to-side, and Balthier’s arm is hooked under the bend of Vaan’s knee as he fucks him with abandon. His body twists delightfully in the man’s grasp, mouth lovebite-swollen and open. Balthier’s thrusts are absolutely merciless and his ringed fingers find no purchase in the tanned expanse of Vaan’s sweat-slicked skin as he finishes inside of him. The sound Balthier makes, low in his throat and nothing short of carnal, is lost in a kiss.

In the wake of his climax, Balthier is undone, and in the first pulses of the afterglow Vaan gets a rare glimpse of a facade crumbled, if only for a moment - the pirate is a beautiful array of scattered scripted pages mussed around the sheets that no doubt he’ll be picking up and binding back together in no time.

So it’s here, Vaan makes his move, kissing Balthier’s slack mouth long and slow, just how Vaan knows he likes it after a rousing round of sex.

“Best you ever had, huh.” Vaan’s voice is a coeurl’s purr, velvet in the fading black of early morn, and Balthier cracks open an eye in tandem with the quirk in his brow. Already the pages are starting to re-order themselves before Vaan’s eyes. But there won’t be any smooth lines to get him out of this one.

“Beg pardon?” a well-practiced quiet incredulity laces the two words like the notches of Balthier’s vest, but oh, how Vaan is far from buying them now.

“Never pegged you for the type to kiss and tell. Thought that was sky pirate’s honor.” Here, he nips at the man's agape mouth. “But thanks for the Dalmasca tourism promotion. We'll need it for our economy after this is all said and done.”

Balthier's brow raises further still, if that were possible, and with it comes a moment of realization that dawns upon his face, just as the sun does in their post coital bliss. The pirate's lips part in a strange, almost fish-like pantomime before teeth snap shut with a click. Alas, it seems his rather loose-lipped revelry at the Whitecap has indeed come back to bite him both proverbially and literally. Too sated and sleepy to be genuinely upset, Balthier simply turns on his side and burrows into the blankets with a catch between a grunt and a long groan.

Just like that, Balthier yawns and stretches, leaving the sight of Vaan with his cocky smirk for that of sleep, all while making a silent vow to give up drinking—and gossip—altogether.

A vow almost as likely to be honored as one to give up Vaan himself.


End file.
